Getting By
by In Dreams
Summary: Draco Malfoy wants to buy his wife a couch. Dramione One-shot.


**Author's Note: **I wrote this ten months ago and forgot about it (oops). Just a quick dose of Dramione angst for your weekend. Hope you enjoy xo

Alpha love to Kyonomiko.

**Warning:** Angst; Open-ended.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

* * *

Draco adjusted his tie as he strode with confidence into a small furnishing boutique. Under the pretense of flicking an invisible bit of dust from his trousers, Draco dried his damp hands. Spending time out and about in Muggle London always had him out of sorts, especially when he was alone.

Draco eyed the saleslady who approached him with a wide, professional grin on her face. She was dressed in an elegant charcoal skirt and blazer, her blonde hair pinned into a twist. She looked to be in her late thirties – perhaps a decade Draco's senior.

"Hello!" she exclaimed as she walked up, and Draco adjusted his tie once more, though he knew it was perfectly in place.

"Good day," he said, extending a hand. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

The woman faltered for a moment, as if taken aback at his formality. Draco had always been taught to dress a level above his surroundings – and to act the same.

"Kathy Wendelin," the woman responded, shaking his hand. "How may I help you, sir?"

Draco glanced around the shop, taking in the extravagant patterns of the decor on every surface. Many of the objects he could not have identified if his life was on the line. Turning back to the woman he forced a smile.

"I am looking to purchase a couch, Ms Wendelin," he responded. "And I am told your shop is a lovely place."

"Kathy. And thank you," the woman intoned with a tilt of the head. "What sort of couch are you looking for, Mr Malfoy?"

"Please," he gestured with a hand, "call me Draco." He gave another furtive glance around the shop. "My wife and I have recently moved into a new house together following the wedding – and the significant task of furnishing it remains incomplete."

"I see," Kathy said with a nod. "Does your wife have anything specific in mind for the couch?"

"She is not aware I am making this purchase," Draco said and hesitated. "She was unable to join me today although I am certain she would have liked to be here. I mean to surprise her."

"With a couch," Kathy said, deadpan.

"Yes," Draco said, allowing a smirk to cross his lips, "though indeed, she may be upset that I did not wait for her. She likes things to be just so, if you understand what I mean."

"I do understand," Kathy chuckled with an appreciative grin. "If you'll come with me."

Draco tucked his hands into his pockets as he followed the woman further into the shop, his fingers grazing his wand in a habitual act of reassurance. The shop was larger than it had initially looked from the street and featured a section of furniture.

Plush armchairs, loveseats, and sofas in a range of colours, patterns, and materials lay spread about in tasteful living scenes. Draco dragged a hand along a nearby leather couch in a deep mauve.

"Do you have a colour or pattern in mind?" Kathy asked, turning to Draco.

"I like green," Draco said with a shrug. "My wife isn't fond of it though. If I'm honest, I didn't pay much attention to furniture growing up. My mother was the expert."

"Was your mother an interior designer?" the woman asked with a smile.

"My mother never worked," Draco clipped, walking over to a plush couch in a subtle pattern of white and silver swirls. He sat down carefully on the edge and then leaned back, sinking into the soft fabric.

"She was a house-wife then," Kathy stated, nodding.

"Oh, Merlin, no," Draco said before he could stop himself. At the woman's raised eyebrow he grimaced. "My mother was a socialite. Still _is_, if you ask her."

He could have sworn the woman straightened a bit, as if suddenly sensing his wealth.

"I quite like this one," Draco said, hands resting on his knees.

"The recline is to your left," the woman said, gesturing to the arm of the couch.

"Pardon me?" Draco asked, blinking. He peered around the arm of the couch, finding a switch. Brow furrowed, he merely stared. He had never seen a couch that required a switch.

"The recline," the woman repeated, her smile faltering.

Suspicious, Draco pulled on the switch with hesitance, his other hand gripping his wand in his pocket. He nearly jumped up when his legs shot forward and he found himself laying back, eyes wide. But after the shock wore off he relaxed into the seat, wondering to himself if he closed his eyes whether he might simply fall asleep.

"How do I –" he began when he was ready to stand, jaw clenching.

"Lean forward and push your legs down," the woman explained, looking baffled. Presumably this was some sort of common Muggle technology. Draco wasn't certain he cared for it.

He did as instructed and stood from the couch, pressing down on the fabric with a hand once more.

"I do like this couch," he said, admiring the pattern. "How many pence is it?"

"Pence?" the woman asked, brows high. "How many _pence_?"

Draco pressed his lips together. He always mixed the two up. "Pounds."

"This couch is one thousand eight hundred pounds," Kathy explained, that somewhat faked, professional smile on her face once more.

"What of this one?" Draco asked as another couch caught his eye. It was of a deep green leather. There was no way Hermione could accuse him of buying a Slytherin couch. He sat down, eyeing the switch on the arm with distaste, but did not pull it.

"That one is one thousand seven hundred," Kathy said.

Draco rested his forearm on the plush arm of the couch, his other hand reaching across the centre cushion.

"Could you – would you sit at the other end?" he asked. Blinking, Kathy did as he asked. "I would like to be sure it is large enough, you see."

"Do you and your wife frequently entertain?"

"No," Draco clipped. "Rarely. Although we have not lived in this house for long. Prior to the wedding she had a flat in Brixton and I lived in my family's ancestral manor in Wiltshire."

"And where is your new house?"

"Kensington," Draco clipped. "My wife selected it. She is brilliant, you see."

"You seem to be very fond of one another," Kathy observed.

Draco snorted inelegantly. "It wasn't always the case, let me assure you. She slapped me when we were thirteen because I insulted a friend of hers." He smiled at the memory, a keen sense of nostalgia lingering.

He stood from the green leather couch, observing it. His eyes flickered back to the silver and white patterned couch. Would Hermione truly like either of them?

"How interesting that you are now married," Kathy said quietly with a smile. "I suppose sometimes life has things in store for us that we do not foresee."

Draco turned to the woman, his brow furrowed as he fixed her with an appraising stare.

"You certainly speak the truth, Ms Wendelin," he murmured, to himself more than anything.

* * *

"I bought us a couch," Draco commented by way of greeting later that day. He slid into his usual spot beside Hermione, his hand finding hers. "I went to that furniture shop you told me about in Chelsea. You were right, it was great. But let me tell you – it was an ordeal."

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

"I know, I should have waited until you could come with me," he said, lips curved into a faint smile. "I wanted to surprise you, you know? It's being delivered to the house tomorrow." He gazed through the window, feeling the bright rays of sunlight streaming through. "I think you'll really like it."

Draco chuckled and rolled his eyes at her vacant expression. "Come on, you don't even know what it looks like. I have excellent taste! Married you, didn't I?" The smile lingered on his lips as he shook his head. "You'll be happy to know it isn't green."

He traced the back of her hand, the smile fading as he gazed at her wild curls, the curve of her lips. His heart always beat a little faster when he saw her.

Draco glanced up, torn from his thoughts as the door swung open.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr Malfoy, I didn't realize you were here," the girl said, biting her lip as she crossed the threshold. The distant bustle of activity and conversation poured into the previously silent room from the hallway.

"Not at all, Carrigan," he said, waving a dismissive hand. He offered the girl a warm smile. "How are you doing today?"

"Very well, thank you, Mr Malfoy," Carrigan responded with a tilt of the head, as she walked into the room. "I just need to run a few tests on Mrs Malfoy; standard diagnostics. You know the drill by now."

"Of course," Draco said with a nod. "Pretend I'm not here."

Draco dropped Hermione's hand and leaned back in his seat, observing as the training healer went through her tests. Draco could have listed them from memory; he probably could have performed them himself.

Carrigan went about her business as Draco turned to stare through the open window again. The playground of St. Mungo's pediatric wing was in view; many of the young patients were taking advantage of the warm day.

"Have there been any signs of progress?" Draco asked idly, still looking out the window.

"Not since yesterday, Mr Malfoy," Carrigan replied with a tight expression.

"Right," Draco said with a wry smile. "Of course not."

Carrigan scrawled some notes on her clipboard before turning to Draco. "Everything looks good. She is still stable."

"And no cause has been determined yet," Draco stated, unable to will the words to form a question.

"The researching healers are still working on it," Carrigan said, her voice soft. "I promise, you'll be the first to know."

Draco offered her another tight-lipped smile. "Thank you Carrigan, I appreciate it."

With a nod, the girl slipped from the room once more, and the silence was stifling.

* * *

The next day the couch was delivered to the house, and Draco watched with a bland smile as two delivery men hauled it from a large truck into the sitting room. Draco's wand hand itched reflexively as he watched the tremendous effort the two men seemed to be exerting.

While the couch was beautiful – Draco was sure he had made the correct decision with the white and silver patterned one – he wasn't satisfied with the location. He paid the delivery men a generous tip to relocate it, three times.

Frowning, Draco sat on the new couch once he was alone, his back stiff and upright. He reclined the seat, better prepared for the shock of it this time. He sat forward once more, lips pressed together as he took in the silent room.

Perhaps they could do with some new artwork.

* * *

Draco slid into his seat beside Hermione that afternoon, entwining his fingers with hers in an instinctive motion. He took a long moment to gaze at the faint smile on her lips.

"The couch arrived today," Draco stated, matter-of-factly. "I'm sure you'll like it. I've brought you a photo of it." He tucked a small photo beneath her free hand, resting idly on the bed. He let out a long breath, clenching his jaw. "But Hermione, here's the thing. We're going to need to properly decorate the whole sitting room."

In stark contrast to the sunshine of the day before, dark clouds rolled by outside the window. The difference echoed Draco's mood implicitly. A cool breeze flitted in and he pushed the window halfway closed.

"The thing, Hermione," Draco repeated, letting out another weary sigh. "Is that I'm not very good at this." He rolled his eyes, smirking. "I know what I said yesterday; I was having a lark. You're the one with the keen eye and we both know it."

One of the diagnostics monitoring her vitals was running, emitting a faint whir. Draco found it unsettling.

He clutched her hand tighter.

"You're going to need to pick out the rest of the furniture, Hermione," Draco breathed. "And the artwork – don't get me started on the artwork."

Carrigan came into the room and Draco slipped into a somber introspection as the girl went about her daily tests. The young healer handed him a glass of water and Draco nodded, grateful; his tongue felt like dry lead.

Once she was gone, Draco pulled his seat closer to the bed once more, dropping his head to the comforter on Hermione's chest. His eyes fell shut, listening to the steady, faint rhythm of her heart.

After a long moment, Draco breathed, "I can't do this alone, Hermione." He squeezed his eyes, tighter. "I need your help." His next breath hitched. "I need _you_."

He sat up and ran a hand through his fine hair, wrenching it free in frustration.

"I need you to wake up, Hermione," he said, so soft he could scarcely hear his own words. "I'm no good at life without you. This wasn't part of the plan, you know?" He took a long moment to steady his breathing; a tear clung to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. He swiped with anxious fingers, knocking the tear loose. "You're the reason I go on, and this feels like some poorly timed trick of fate."

He leaned back in his seat, chewing his tongue. Hermione lay, eyes gently closed, lips upturned.

He took hold of her hand again, her fingers fragile and limp in his. She looked so small, so helpless. So beautiful.

Draco's heart couldn't stand seeing her that way. Not today, not six months ago when she had mysteriously fallen comatose, a week after the wedding.

"It should be me, Hermione," he whispered, another tear spilling free. "If I could switch places with you, I would." He gasped, overcome with despair. "I just… need you to come back to me."

Her blank, lost face stared back at him; her beautiful brown eyes remained closed. Those fiery, impassioned eyes with which he had fallen completely in love. He didn't know how long he sat, willing those eyes to open, to see them and hear her voice.

"I'll see you again tomorrow," Draco said at last, feeling the desperate rush of anxiety and adrenaline with which he had become so familiar. He squeezed her hand, dropping a lingering kiss to her temple. He breathed into her skin, "I love you."

He pawed at his tired, bloodshot eyes as he released her hand and pushed his chair back.

With one last glance towards his wife laying in the stark white hospital linens, Draco closed the door behind him and made his way to the public Apparition point.

A hand clenched around a photograph.

Eyelids trembled, and chocolate brown eyes fluttered open.


End file.
